A part of him wondered distantly why Sheppard had waited so long, why they had sacrificed McKay in the end, for sacrifice it had been, there had been no mistaking the true grief in Sheppard’s voice. Was it possible that Death had retained some hold over him, broken only at the last moment, in time to make that final choice? Or had Sheppard and McKay had to act alone, overruling Woolsey and Carter's Consort? Most likely he would never know, and a part of him regretted that, even as he regretted McKay's death. But the main thing, the vital thing, was that Hyperion's weapon was destroyed, and he would fulfill his part of the bargain.
A second hive was drifting damaged at the edge of the battle, but he could see thrusters firing, struggling to bring the ship back into the battle. Better to stop that before it started, he thought, and opened a channel to the rest of his fleet.
"Copper, Thunder, take the damaged hive."
The two smaller cruisers peeled away, heading for the struggling hive. Guide saw its thrusters flare again, ragged and uneven, unable to turn in time to meet the attack. Energy weapons sliced across heavy hide, scoring deep into the hive's systems. The hive rolled, trailing vapor, main engines firing. It dropped out of the plane of the ecliptic, the cruisers in pursuit, but the hive opened a hyperspace window and was gone.
"Leave them," Guide said, and the cruisers turned, obedient. In his own screens, the less damaged hive swung to meet him, weapons blazing. He saw them strike home, felt the ship's pain and anger and steadied it on its course. His gunners had their targets, he could hear the chatter confirming it, but discipline held. A little longer, he thought, just a little more –
"Fire," he said, mind and voice alike, and Just Fortune staggered with the weight of its own attack. Lines of light cut across the darkness, spearing the other hive, each weak point targeted and hit. The other hive shuddered, bucking, and then a hole opened in its hull just aft of the central gap. Atmosphere boiled free, and then the explosion followed.
"Atlantis," he said, switching to the familiar channel. "Sheppard."
"He's busy." That was Carter's Consort, O'Neill. Of course Sheppard would be in ship-trance.
Guide said, "Farseer and Copper will remain to cover you. If I share our Dart code, can you get it to your ships? I do not wish my people destroyed by their allies."
"Send it over," O'Neill said. "We'll pass it on."
Guide touched his controls, releasing the identifying code. "Can you read that?"
There was a moment's pause, and then O'Neill said, "We have it. I'm transmitting it to our ships and the 302s."
"Then we will take the fight to Queen Death," Guide said. He looked across the control room. “Bonewhite. Can you give me another short jump?”
Bonewhite bared teeth in a fighting smile. “Already calculated, Commander.”
“Excellent. Whenever you're ready, then.”
Just Fortune gathered itself beneath him, and leaped into the night.
Jack frowned at the tac display again. Yeah, Guide finally getting himself into the fight was making a difference. Atlantis had some breathing room, and Guide's Darts were mixing it up with Queen Death's, but — the drifting cruiser was still on what looked like a collision course with the city. He looked to Zelenka's station — Dr. Kusanagi had taken over there, her hands busy and her expression intent — and he came to look over her shoulder.
"Not to bother you, Doc, but isn't that cruiser still coming toward us?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so, General." She gave him an apologetic look, as though it were somehow her fault. "But Teyla will take care of it."
"Yeah." Jack stepped away, studying the converging line, then looked at Woolsey. "Any word from Teyla?"
"Not yet." Woolsey's expression was grim.
Crap. Jack touched his radio. "Sheppard. We're still converging on that cruiser."
There was a pause before Sheppard answered. "I'm working on it, General."
Work harder. Jack swallowed the words, and looked back at the screen. A light was flashing at the bottom of the screen, Ancient characters glowing red, and for a moment he wished he hadn't sent Daniel down to keep an eye on the civilians. But you didn't have to read Ancient to be able to guess that it was a collision alert. "Come on, Sheppard," he said, under his breath, and clasped his hands behind his back.
John sank deeper into the chair's embrace, frowning as the damaged cruiser drifted slowly closer. The city was worried, alarms flashing somewhere distant; closer at hand, it presented a series of new courses, fanning away from the cruiser. That one, John thought, and felt the engines fire, the city shifting ponderously. And then the steady rumble faltered, an overloaded conduit crumpling, and he swore silently. Shut it down!
The city was there ahead of him, feathering controls, opening new routes and damping out the power surge. The outrush slowed, steadied: the North Pier engines were now at 40 percent of capacity. Any more, the city whispered, and the entire system would collapse. He let the power fade in the other engines, balancing the output and steadying the city against the system's gravity. In the back of his mind, he felt more power flowing to the shield, the city ready to re-expand its coverage, but he held it back. Wait on that, he said. Let's see where we are first.
The city displayed the new course. They'd pulled away from the cruiser, but not far enough; they'd still pass close enough for the cruiser's wing to brush against the very edge of the trailing pier. Put on the brakes? he thought, and the city showed the solution: still not enough. They didn't have enough power to do anything except re-extend the shield….
"Sheppard!"
O'Neill had said his name before, John realized, and he let himself rise out of the city's embrace. "General, we're going to restore the full shield."
"I thought you said we didn't have enough power for that," Woolsey said sharply.
"We didn't. But I told you, we've overloaded our repairs, so we can't put through as much power to the engines. We've got that to spare, plus we're not under direct attack —"
"And if that cruiser hits us, we want the shield," O'Neill said, his voice grim. "Do it, Colonel."
John felt the shield wash over him, expanding like long-held breath. Much better, more comfortable, a too-tight collar loosed at last.
"What about the cruiser?" O'Neill asked.
"It's up to Teyla now," John answered.
Teyla stood in the commander's place, her hands buried in the controls, eyes closed as she fought to bring the cruiser under her will. It was old and stubborn and afraid; it did not know her touch and did not trust it, fought to do what it had been told. Distantly, she could hear the Marines' chatter — Radek in the core of the ship, working to untangle the array of fuses; Eva in the shuttle bay; Sheffield close at hand, relaying readouts from the various consoles. It did not matter. All that mattered was the cruiser, her hands on its controls, her will bending it to obedience. The engines were damaged, the control circuits balky; half the dorsal thrusters were inoperable, and the cruiser wanted nothing more than to fulfill its mission.
No, she said gently. That is cancelled. You will turn away, and I will take you home to be made whole.
The cruiser had Atlantis in its sights, Ancient enemy, and would not respond, yearning toward destruction.
"Ms. Emmagan!"
She looked up sharply, eyes flying open. "I don't have time —"